SlavesofMistressDespoiler (21 page)

Breathing heavily, he grunted and groaned, respiring in fits as it scorched his tender membranes with its chill.

Without delay, Mistress Lynn removed the next and handed it to him. The first had not even begun to fully melt. He could not take another so soon.

“Please, Mistress Lynn, not yet. I can’t take it so soon after the first,” he protested.

With a jolt of movement she leapt up from her seat. Grabbing his neck she drew him down, bending him at the middle and forcing his rear into the air. The heavy sole of her boot set to his cheek, grinding his head to the rug. Pinning him down, she grabbed the cube and shoved it in. He squeaked and snivelled with the entry, her ramming digits plunging it deep to join the others.

Keeping her position, she kept him beneath her boot, watching with intensity as he wriggled under her, the slave beset by the havoc of the temperature change, the cold in his gut making him sob in wretched misery. When his movements started to subside and his fight dwindled with the melting of the cube she started to spank him.

The gloved hand of the Mistress launched up and descended with heavy force. Clapping to his welt-riddled cheeks the effects of the slap were greatly reinforced by falling onto fresh bruises. With a rapid series of sweeps she applauded his dismay, adding nine eager smacks before finally removing herself from his skull and settling back into her seat.

“Slave,” stated Mistress Despoiler. “Go and expel the water and put the butt plug back in. Then you’ll come back to us with a more obedient temperament, understood?”

“Yes, Mistress Despoiler,” he added.

Taking up the plug he crawled out, straightening his attire as he went and being cautious not to annoy his new trophies of slavery. How much longer would this go on for? How much longer before they tired of this play and restored normal relationships to become his friend and his partner once more?

Heading up the stairs he moved directly into the toilet and dragged his garments back down. Dumping himself onto the bowl he swiftly spat out the loitering fluids. To his surprise, a shrunken cube emerged and another a moment later. The nuggets of ice had taken longer to melt than he thought.

Thinking on the events downstairs, he found rapid arousal in them. The way he had been made to perform for them and then forced to ingest the last cube. The feel of her boot into his face was still distinct. The heat of her hand to his rump was still a smarting presence. But the greatest portion of the encounter, the factor that stoked his lust the most was not the harsh barbarism of Mistress Lynn, but the majestic detachment of Mistress Despoiler. The way she had simply guided from her throne, making him suffer without compunction at the hands of her assistant. She had not even needed to act in person. She was wonderful and though this scenario had its unbearable aspects, the general delight he was gaining was a much greater compensation. With the privacy of the toilet and a swelling member in his hands, he could not help but steal a few sly shuffles. The theft of a little bliss was a means to rededicate to his servitude, stoking the frustration that would swear him to obedience. His head lolled back, savouring the feel as his gloved fist leapt up and down, filling his length with warmth as winter still held regnant in his rectum.

The cold was still reverberating in his stomach when he emerged. Slotting the plug back into place he restored his image as a maid. Returning to serve them, he squeezed his opening to the plug, its very existence a reminder of his station.

Mistress Despoiler had transferred to the couch. The two dominants were sitting upon it side by side, waiting for him, almost in ambush.

“Turn on the television, slave,” demanded his owner.

When he moved to comply a bullwhip emerged like a leather serpent from behind the armrest. Erupting into view it slithered onto the floor and lashed around to snap its mordant tip to his rear. Releasing a gurgling croak and fighting back a howling scream of more adequate response, he stumbled forward and dropped to one side. Nursing the burning injury he quickly flicked on the set lest he encourage more.

“Do you like my new toy, slave?” asked Mistress Despoiler. Withdrawing the woven length she formed it back into spiralling coils that were ready to be unleashed with a mere flick of her wrist.

He nodded softly, the heat it had thrust into his flesh more intense than he thought was possible without breaking the skin.

“Change channel,” she added, finding the current show not to her taste.

“Again,” she ordered, the cable channels passing by swiftly as they sought something to catch their attention.

“That’ll do,” reported his owner, and snapping her fingers in summoning, Mistress Despoiler demanded that he form back into a footrest for them.

“A voice commanded remote control,” commented Mistress Lynn. Lifting up her feet she crossed them before settling onto his shoulders.

“And it needs no batteries,” smirked his owner, her heeled boots settling on the middle of his spine.

“Powered by pain. Mind if I smoke?”

“Of course not,” absently affirmed Mistress Despoiler, her attention engrossed with the show after only a few minutes.

“Remove this glove, slave,” she ordered and slapped a hand to his left shoulder in harsh indication.

Straining to keep himself upright without the supporting struts of his arms he drew down the opera glove and pulled it free to expose the limb nearest to her.

The scratching snap of a lighter sounded. Mistress Lynn drew in a drag before expelling a plume of smoke in his direction that made him choke under his breath. It was a response she merely smiled to.

“Hand,” she ordered, and predicting her wishes he lifted it up with palm raised. With a tap to her cigarette, she shed the tip of ash onto the skin. The flakes were warm to the touch but thankfully not burning hot. Closing his hand into a fist to trap the debris he returned it to the floor to support them while listening to the television and the sound of them passing the time with idle talk and drink.

The discomfort in his limbs arose as it always did. This time it was emphasised by the fact that he was bearing twice his usual load and was constantly being called upon to accept the ash of Mistress Lynn.

Hours trailed past as he served as sentient furniture. Occasionally he refilled drinks or gathered snacks for them. Such opportunities were a valuable break to permit his body brief recovery. Each time he was sent forth, his order came with a taste of the cane or whip that formed a stamp of approval to his orders. His return was similarly given an abusive tang, followed by more if he had displeased them somehow. Locked to such a rota, the evening passed by and entered into night.

“Slave, go and get out of uniform. Clean it and hang it up. I want you in briefs, hood and collar, that is all,” stated Mistress Despoiler, retracting her legs as Mistress Lynn similarly set him free.

Staggering stiffly to his feet, he yelped and tottered as the cane swatted him. On a lonely march he proceeded upstairs to remove himself from the slick garments. Dumping the handful of ash into the toilet, he entered the separate bathroom to undress.

The interior of every garment was sodden with his sweat and trickles ran into his eyes from within the hood to sting his vision. With enthusiastic haste he started to remove the apparel. Washing it in the upstairs sink in warm soapy water he rinsed the items and hung them up inside out to dry. He simply removed the hood because he lacked the time to cleanse it and let it dry properly.

Chapter Ten

“Come here, slave,” ordered the Mistress.

Lynn looked to the door, wondering when the slave was going to return. She did not want to be caught displaying her submission. She wanted to keep him thinking that she was a true Mistress, out to replace his owner. Lynn wanted to torment his psyche as well as his body, just as so many others had done to her.

The sounds of movement upstairs and of running water told her that he was still performing his chores so she scampered over willingly to kneel before the lounging Mistress.

Lynn’s hands folded on her thighs as she kept her eyes low as she sat to perky attention. The corset was a rigid cell along her body, forcing her upright, stopping her from drooping and enforcing the regal stance.

A stiletto boot laid itself upon the bunched digits. The fabric sparkled in the light, catching refraction’s upon the wrinkles and smooth panes.

“Worship them, slave,” demanded Mistress Despoiler.

Without any measure of hesitation, Lynn took up the boot and lifted it to her lips. Lapping at the toe, she enclosed her mouth around the tip then slithered her tongue across the inserted point. Her eyes rolled up and down the stem of the Mistress’ leg. The fishnet cat suit encompassing her form swiftly led Lynn’s entranced vision up to the tight shorts. How she wanted to bury her face into the loins of her owner again, to please her so effectively, to know that she was favoured.

The eyes of the Mistress watched from within a deep glower, studying her, soaking up her submission, revelling in it as Lynn so flagrantly offered herself for slavery.

Clenching her rear to the plug, she started to take long laps up the calves of her owner and relished the subtle tang of the fabric. Patent leather was a fine enough delicacy to her palate, but she preferred the far more exotic and substantially brash dish of latex.

“And the other one, slave,” she ordered. Placing the cleaned boot on Lynn’s shoulder she used her as a footrest while presenting the second boot for adoration.

With equal zeal, Lynn attended her duty. The weight upon her made her feel all the more servile. Once she had lapped the smooth material all over and swallowed up the heel and sucked upon it, the Mistress placed the cleansed boot on the other shoulder.

The legs of the Mistress were like scissors, clasping Lynn’s head and keeping her face forward so that she looked solely along the presented spectacle of the Mistress.

Lynn’s eyes were wide with lust, the vision one that had her aching to touch herself. The boots gripping her head, using her as nothing more than a piece of animate furniture. Her long shapely legs, encased in tight mesh, reaching up to the glorious abdomen of the Mistress, her sex sealed within the burnished hot pants. The Mistress was slumped into the chair like a reclining Roman noble lady, spiteful and oppressive, ready to do as she wished with her slaves and possessed of ultimate power over all. Her breasts strained against the bra, demanding attention but hiding from the touch of those who needed permission to do so. The furtive pair of clues that were her nipple rings tantalised Lynn’s mind. How she wanted to take one of those hidden teats in her mouth, to lick and fawn over the woman’s breasts, even just to hold them, to worship them as the divine artefacts they were. Even her face was a captivating portrait. Her sinister smirk was a smile that possessed hidden secrets and uncertain motives. It was a capricious grin that radiated strength. The military cap granted her eyes a shadow that made them dark, brooding, intolerant of questioning and yet still full of mischief.

One leg curled slightly and started to press to the back of her head, pulling Lynn in. She willingly complied with the directive, letting her face be manoeuvred into the crotch of the Mistress.

With a wiggle she buried her nose and mouth into the warm rubber. Drowning in the scent she fought to get breath through, smothering herself as the mesh thighs of the Mistress tightened to squash her head in their firm grasp.

“I think you’d make a fine seat, slave,” pondered the Mistress, flexing her muscles to increase the power of the hold on Lynn’s head. “To have you sat beneath me like this, smothering you, having you worship me with your tongue for as long as I want. But do you think yourself worthy of such a privilege?”

Lynn nodded against the shorts, rubbing her nose against the tightly packed flesh. The tease of her nose brought a shudder to the Mistress.

“Well we shall see. But first, let’s see you play with your breasts. Get those nipples up for me, slave” she murmured contentedly, turning her hips to play herself against Lynn’s immersed features.

With a little trepidation, Lynn drew down the cups of her bra and revealed her breasts. They were smaller than those of the Mistress, and her own lack of self worth believed them vastly inferior in appearance. It was another coin in the treasury that proved the Mistress her superior.

Gentle touches started the erection of the teats. The swiftness was brought on by her arousal at being subdued in the rubber-armoured belly of her owner. Lynn’s eyes flickered with the first pangs of tickled delight. The caresses to her teats made her shiver in the leg lock, her buttocks squeezing to the plug, her sphincter trying to push it out. She forced it a little way forth, then dropped her efforts to have her rear gulp it back down and please herself all the more.

All the while the Mistress studied her, smiling as she erotically degraded herself, playing her breasts for the amusement of her oppressor. It was a private peep show, performed for a singular audience.

“That will do, slave,” she stated and removed her legs. Sitting upright she reached over to brush Lynn’s hands away.

Instead of her own cautious touch, Lynn had the venomous pinch of the Mistress replace her. The woman snagged each nipple between thumb and finger and crushed them mercilessly, making Lynn grimace and squeak with shock.